The Man With The Power Of God In His Hands
by Ben Pieper
Summary: Dr. Bashir begins acting strangely after he is injured in an accident, and it is up to Sisko to find out why.


Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

The Man With The Power Of God In His Hands

Captain's Log: Stardate 51109.4 – After the recent Dominion invasion, life is beginning to return to normal around here. Most of the damage is repaired, mainly thanks to the Cardassian repair crews during the occupation, and we have finally settled down once again.

'This doesn't make sense!' Miles O'Brien cast down the padd onto the desk before him, narrowly missing his early morning cup of raktajino. 'Those blasted Cardassians changed all of the computer paths back to their original configurations while they occupied this place. It's going to take us weeks to sort out!'

Jadzia Dax winced in sympathy. 'Have we lost all of the saved information in the data banks?'

O'Brien shook his head. 'No, thankfully. It's just buried under reams and reams of Cardassian junk files.'

Julian Bashir smiled. 'I had a dream about that last night. I dreamt that we were digging out a load of Cardassian voles.'

O'Brien smiled back at his friend. 'If only.'

'I remember the last time you had to drag out a load of Cardassian voles, Chief!' laughed Kira Nerys. They all smiled, remembering the ingenious curses the Chief had come up with as he had hunted down the vermin.

'Yeah, but that would still be better than trying to extract data paths and replace them with Starfleet bio-neural packs.' O'Brien sighed. 'Talking of that, Julian, do you know how to repair those things?'

'Yes, Chief,' replied Bashir. 'They're no different from standard medical procedures on organic beings.'

'Good, because I think I may have been supplied with several infected packs,' O'Brien said. Bashir frowned.

'That's bad policy on the part of Starfleet. Usually their quarantine procedures are better than that.'

'Maybe so, but these look infected.' Bashir nodded at O'Brien's worry, and stood.

'If you send me one of the packs, I'll have a look at it for you.' O'Brien nodded and went back to studying his padd.

As Bashir headed back to the replicator to refill his empty cup, his communicator bleeped. 'Bashir here.'

'Doctor, Ensign Filer just came in with severe injuries. He fell off the main walkway on the Promenade. We need you down here.'

'On my way.' Bashir glanced at the others and shrugged ruefully. He left the room.

At 0004 hours, Bashir collapsed into his bed, and sighed. 'Why did I take this job?' He answered his own question. 'Oh, I remember. "Frontier life."' He shook his head.

'How can today get any worse?'

A few minutes later he was asleep. And dreaming.

__

A dark room. No light that he could see, and yet, in the middle of the room, a man was sat hunched up on a chair, holding something that glowed, but did not illuminate his features.

He moved closer, trying to see what was producing the glow. He could not, immediately, but as he drew closer, the glow intensified. By now absolutely fascinated, he looked into the man's hands.

A small globe of intense light, tiny, but immensely powerful, shone in the man's hand. As he watched, the globe changed to a blue flower, and then a blue crystal. The crystal then colour-shifted to a red jewel and then to a green blade of grass, before returning to being a globe of light. The transformations fascinated him and he reached out -

Bashir jerked awake with a shock. 'What the hell?'

The dream remained crystal clear in his memory, and maddeningly refused to fade.

The next morning in the Infirmary, Bashir tried to surreptitiously give himself a scan with a tricorder. Unexpectedly, his assistant, Yevlin Meris, entered and stared at him as he once again took readings around his head. 'Doctor?'

Bashir jumped. 'Meris! Don't do that!'

'Sorry, doctor. Are you feeling all right?'

'Yes. Fine! Why do you ask?'

'You were scanning yourself with a tricorder.'

'Was I?' Bashir stared at the tricorder and scanner as if wondering how they got there.

'If you'd asked, doctor,' said Meris pointedly, 'I'd have run a scan for you.' She relieved him of the scanner and tricorder and proceeded to make the same scan. 'What were you looking for?'

'Er... I... er... I had a dream last night.'

'Yes?'

'I was a touch unnerved, and I wondered if I was having some form of hallucination.'

'What was it about?' said Meris.

'I wouldn't like to discuss it, Meris,' replied Bashir, putting a bit of fake testiness into his voice. _Mainly because I'm not sure either!_, thought Bashir.

'Are you sure? I'm qualified in psychology.'

'I know.' Bashir turned and took the tricorder from her, checking the readings. 'I seem to be all right.' Closing the tricorder, he stared into space for a moment.

'Doctor?'

'It's okay.' Bashir set the tricorder on the table and left the Infirmary.

That night, the dream returned.

__

This time, Bashir was closer to the seated figure. He was able to see now that the man held what was definitely a globe of white light. Bashir tried to see the face of the figure, but a change in the globe of light distracted him. It became a ball of green, swirling gas.

About four decks directly below where Bashir's room was, a Starfleet engineer was wrestling with a plasma conduit which had been displaying a weakness, threatening to breach for some time. Suddenly his tricorder, set to register trouble, began bleeping urgently. The engineer glanced down at it, and registered the warning it was giving.

__

Bashir stepped towards the figure, who had not moved, nor seemingly become aware of Bashir's attention. The green gas still flowed in his hand, illuminating his face partially, but still casting maddening shadows over the crucial parts.

The engineer was crawling hurriedly down the corridor while behind him, his tools in one hand and his tricorder bleeping its fatalistic warning in its belt holster. He tapped his comm-badge. 'Lopez to Ops.'

Up in Ops, Lopez's voice came through clearly. O'Brien answered, 'Ops here. What's the matter?'

Lopez sounded calm, but O'Brien noted a touch of urgency in the experienced officer's voice. 'There's a plasma conduit about to breach in Jeffries tube thirty-two. I can't get out in time.'

'Prepare for transport,' said O'Brien. He activated the transporter at the far side of Ops. As the golden glow formed a human shape and deposited Lopez on the pad, O'Brien quickly sealed off the affected area. As he did so, the explosion happened.

The conduit ripped apart in a blast of green gas, flooding the tube and sparking off the containment fields around it that O'Brien had set up. The explosion rocked the entire station, knocking out the power systems through four decks, including those inside Bashir's room.

The sudden shudder threw him from his bed, awaking him. 'What the hell? Lights!' The lights failed to come on. 'What's going on?'

The comm system bleeped in Ops. Ben Sisko's voice came through, sounding tired. 'Chief, what's going on?'

'We've had a plasma breach in Jeffries tube thirty-two. It's –' A bleeping on the panel before him broke into his thoughts. 'Oh, hell –'

In the Jeffries tube, the blue containment fields sparked and threw back the coiling green gas that was left after a plasma explosion. Suddenly, the gas started to escape to somewhere in the ceiling of the tube, and vanished.

Bashir hammered on the door of his quarters. 'Is there anybody there?' There was no answer. He tapped his comm-badge. 'Bashir to Ops.' Silence. 'Bashir to Infirmary. Bashir to anyone!'

The room began to grow lighter. Bashir turned and recoiled.

The ball of green gas that he'd seen in his dream was before him, pouring from a crack in the wall. He realised that it was deadly plasma gas from a power conduit. He hammered harder on the door as the gas filled the room. 'Help me! I'm trapped!'

O'Brien frantically hammered commands into the console. 'Where's it gone?'

Sisko's figure appeared in the turbolift. 'Status report, Chief,' he commanded.

'We had a plasma breach in tube thirty-two, Captain. I erected containment fields around it, but the gas left over from the blast escaped. I'm trying to trace it, but it's vanished into a vent somewhere. It's absolutely deadly!'

'Keep working,' said Sisko. 'Go to yellow alert,' he added.

Bashir was slumped against the door of his quarters, hitting it weakly as his quarters filled totally with the plasma gas.

'Communications, power and life support are down on deck five, Captain!' warned O'Brien.

'Go to auxiliaries,' replied Sisko.

'We're picking up plasma gas in one of the crew quarters,' said Lopez.

'Who's?' asked Sisko.

O'Brien cursed. 'Bloody hell! It's filled Julian's quarters! Activating the vents and reversing pressure!'

Sisko jumped to the turbolift, followed closely by O'Brien. 'Trauma team to Dr. Bashir's quarters!' The turbolift slid into the shaft.

When Sisko and O'Brien arrived at the door of Bashir's quarters, they found the trauma team there already, scanning the door. The leader, Yevlin Meris, turned to Sisko and said, 'It's clear, sir.'

'Open it, Chief.'

The door slid open quickly, and Bashir's body fell into the corridor, totally unconscious and badly burned. 'How is he?' O'Brien asked Meris anxiously, as she bent to scan Bashir's body with a tricorder.

'Not good. His lungs have severe plasma scarring and he's suffered second degree burns. I need that stretcher here now!' she ordered one of the orderlies.

Sisko laid a hand on O'Brien's shoulder, gently pulling him away from the side of Bashir. 'There's nothing you can do, Chief. Just let him be.'

O'Brien allowed himself to be pulled back, gazing with a terrible horror on Bashir's unmoving body.

The medics worked feverishly around the bio-bed. From outside, O'Brien and Dax watched with anxious concern. O'Brien had been browbeating himself incessantly in Ops, infuriating Sisko, leading to his being sent down here to keep an eye on Bashir. Dax had decided to come with him, as she also cared for the young doctor. Kira had promised to look in later, as had Odo.

They both watched, helpless, as Bashir's fate was decided.

__

Bashir was in the dream again, only this time, it seemed to be more tangible. Once before, there had been only silence in the darkness around him, but now there were whisperings and rustlings.

He saw the man again. This time, the light was red in his hand. Bashir stepped closer. And recoiled.

What was held was not a globe of white light. Instead, it was a pulsating human heart, beating slowly. The man was staring intently at it. Bashir, with a flash of insight, realised that what he was looking at was his own heart. And, with a professional air of detachment, realised that it's beat was slowing down.

'We're losing him!' warned Meris, her voice cracking slightly. There was a pause in which silence reigned and then –

'He's flatlined!' shouted an intern.

'Ten CCs of cordrazine!' ordered Meris calmly. She pressed the hypo against Bashir's arm, and stood back to watch the results. Nothing happened. The terrible whine of the cardiac monitor filled O'Brien's ears, and he turned away.

__

Bashir watched in horror as the heart stopped. 'Do something!' he said to the man. 'I'm dying!'

His voice sounded faraway, but the man finally looked at him. Bashir received another shock.

The face staring at him with a look of malicious greed was his own.

Meris pressed the cortical stimulator to Bashir's forehead and pressed a few buttons. 'Stand back!' she said. She activated it.

Bashir's body jerked violently against the restraints.

__

Bashir winced as a blaze of pain jolted through his body. The other Bashir stood, and steadied him. Bashir gazed into his own eyes, and asked, 'Who are you?'

'I'm you,' replied the other, voice an exact replica of his own, the look having vanished as soon as it had appeared. 'I'm the one on the other side.'

'The other side of what?' gasped Bashir.

('No effect!' said the intern.

'Another!' replied Meris angrily.)

__

'Your universe, of course,' answered the double.

'The mirror universe?'

'Not from there.' The double raised his hand up, and Bashir looked at the heart. It had stopped. 'You're dead.'

Meris stepped back from the table, horror and distress running across her face. 'I – I lost him.'

O'Brien stepped away from the panel, misery and despair on his face. Dax closed her eyes and felt a tear trickle down her cheek as Meris covered the body with a shroud and turned away sadly.

'Medical log. Doctor Julian Bashir pronounced dead at 0530 hours, stardate 51111.2. Cause of death – first degree plasma burns.'

__

Bashir suddenly stared at his hand. He could see through it. He stared at the double in terror. 'What's happening?'

'Quickly!' urged the double. 'Before it's too late!'

'What - ?' began Bashir, but the double pressed the heart into his hand. Bashir did not recoil – as a doctor, he had handled similar internal organs in the past, but this one was different. It had a hard, almost crystalline feel to it.

'What am I supposed to do?' asked Bashir, confused.

'You know!' said the double. 'It's in your genes!'

Bashir stared hard at the still heart. He suddenly realised that he did know what to do. He concentrated for a brief moment and the heart suddenly metamorphosed into the globe of shimmering light. Bashir glanced at the double, and frowned. He had a greedy and desperate look on his face, and as he realised that Bashir was looking at him., the look vanished. He looked at Bashir, and smiled beguilingly. 'You know how to do it,' he said quietly.

Bashir stared into the globe of light, and concentrated.

As Meris turned away from the body, the cardiac monitor suddenly began bleeping. Slowly at first, but gaining speed. Meris turned to look at it in pure amazement and then she and the intern made a simultaneous dash for the instruments.

'His brain activity's rising!' said Meris.

'Heartbeat stabilising at normal levels.' Dax and O'Brien both overheard and rushed to the observation window.

Meris turned and spoke into the intercom. 'Computer, delete previous log entry. Commander Dax?'

Dax looked up into Meris' smiling face. 'Yes?'

'He's going to be all right.'

Dax nodded gratefully and turned to the equally pleased O'Brien. 'Meris says he's going to be fine.'

__

Bashir looked at the heart. It was now beating steadily. He glanced at the double, who was smiling openly. Bashir recognised the smile as not one of happiness, but of a cruel pleasure. He tried to pass the heart back. The double refused to take it. 'No,' he said. 'Your heart is in your own hands now. I will step back and watch.'

So saying, the double stepped forward _and somehow merged with the astonished doctor. There was a confused moment where there seemed to be two Bashirs occupying the same space, and then there was only one._

The globe of light remained in his hand, and he looked at it, smiled, and then laughed out loud – a laugh of cruelty.

Sisko stepped into the Infirmary to be confronted by Bashir, sitting up in bed and smiling. 'How's the patient, Doctor?' asked the captain.

'The _patient_ will be fine if he is allowed to get out of bed and return to duty,' said Bashir flippantly. He glanced at Meris. 'And if his staff would stop mollycoddling him, he might be able to do so.' Meris made a face at his back. Sisko repressed an urge to smile.

'I will consult with your private physician on that matter,' said Sisko. 'If you'll excuse me.'

Sisko stepped through to speak with Meris, and Bashir watched him go, scratching the palm of his left hand idly.

'How is he?' asked Sisko quietly. Meris smiled.

'Well,' she said, glancing at the patient, who had settled into bed again, 'considering he was dead less than two hours ago, not bad at all.'

Sisko looked surprised. 'You mean he was really dead?'

Meris nodded. 'He'd been brain-dead for more than five minutes. It's technically impossible to revive someone after that period of brain-death. It was as if – something simply took complete control of his body and restarted his systems itself.'

'Is it anything to do with his genetic implants?'

'It's possible,' said Meris. 'But even for mutants, dead is dead.' She gestured to Bashir, who was reading a padd. 'Shall I put him in the log as the first recorded case of a zombie?'

Sisko grunted. 'I already have.'

Bashir put down the padd, wondering why his palm was itching so, and then froze. Branded into the skin was a symbol. Two crossed swords, with a planet behind them.

And, that moment, even though part of him barely recognised it, another part of him said, _That's ours._

Two hours later, Bashir was allowed to return to duty. First, he went to get changed back into his uniform.

Pulling it on, he found himself scratching at his palm again. He gazed for a moment at the branded mark, and then walked over to the replicator. 'Computer,' he said, and then paused. Eventually, he said, 'Two black leather gloves.'

The gloves materialised. Bashir stared at them for a moment, as if surprised by their appearance, and then picked them up and slipped them on. And, in a subtly different voice, one that was filled with power and authority, he said, 'A very good replica. Almost perfect, in fact.' And he turned, looked at himself critically in the full-length mirror and laughed once. The cruel laugh of the double.

And, with a brief glow of light, the pattern of two crossed swords over a planet appeared on the back of his left glove. In his eyes, for a moment, there was a brief gleam of light.

Bashir emerged onto Ops and surveyed it like a king looking over new territory. For a moment. Then, he seemed to freeze over and stiffen. Quickly, the burning light that had been in his eyes appeared and faded and Bashir seemed to regain himself. At this moment, O'Brien looked across and saw him. 'Julian!'

The entire Ops crew looked across at the turbolift, all with pleased smiles on their faces, making Bashir an uncomfortable centre of attention. He thought about trying a little wave, changed his mind, and settled for a tentative smile instead.

Dax nearly charged up the steps and hugged him frenziedly. 'We were so worried!'

'I'm worried about you,' muttered Bashir, returning the embrace with care, keeping a careful eye on Worf. However, her husband was watching them with an expression of amused tolerance. Bashir managed to prise Dax off him eventually. 'Careful,' he said with a smile. 'I'm still fragile.'

Sisko emerged from his office and watched Bashir with a severe expression. 'Doctor, after you've finished, could you come into my office for a moment?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Bashir, but Sisko had already turned and re-entered his office. Bashir made his way through the crowd of anxious but pleased faces, shaking hands, smiling pleasantly, and eventually managed to get to the door to Sisko's office. As he made to enter, he glanced back at the only person whom he had not spoken to or thanked for their concern – Miles. O'Brien was simply watching him with a pleased smile. Bashir mouthed the words "thank you".

O'Brien shrugged and grinned, glancing back down at his readout. Bashir smiled, and entered Sisko's office.

Sisko had just sat down with a raktajino as Bashir entered. He glanced up at the doctor, and then smiled slightly. 'Yevlin let you back on duty, did she?'

'Yes, sir,' said Bashir. He made to gesture, and Sisko's gaze flicked to his gloves.

'A special medical reason, Doctor?' he asked. 'Or simply a fashion statement?'

Bashir did not quite blush. 'A matter of personal preference, sir,' he replied. 'I can remove them if you'd like.'

Sisko shook his head. 'I'm sure you have a good reason for doing so. Doctor.'

Bashir nodded slightly. 'Thank you, sir.'

'I wanted to speak with you,' said Sisko, rising from his seat, 'about what happened a few hours ago.'

'My death and resurrection?' asked Bashir, eyebrow raised.

Sisko nodded solemnly. 'Your status as honorary miracle-worker will not be affected by what I have to say, but I do not feel that I can let such an unusual occurrence pass unnoticed.'

'I would sincerely hope not, sir.'

'Starfleet will be asking questions. Hard questions, Doctor. I hope you are ready to answer them.'

Bashir grinned nervously. 'I'm ready to answer them, but I don't think that they'll be the answers Starfleet wants.'

'How do you mean?' asked Sisko.

Bashir debated for a moment whether or not to tell him about the dreams, but decided not to. 'Sir, I've watched the log recordings and seen the status monitors. Hell, if I'd been in a fit state to do so, _I'd_ have pronounced me dead. Then, all of a sudden, my nervous system and brain seemed to kick-start my other systems. That is not supposed to happen at all.'

Sisko nodded thoughtfully. 'Is it something do with your implants?'

'It's possible. However, I've never heard of anything like this before,' said Bashir. 'If I have your permission, Captain, I'd like to run some tests on myself.'

'By all means, Doctor,' said Sisko magnanimously. 'I'd like to get to the bottom of this.'

'As would I, sir.' Bashir turned and walked to the door. As he did so, he paused and looked back at the captain. 'Sir, have you noticed how ever since people realised that I was a mutant, everything I've done since seems to go back to that fact?'

'Yes,' said Sisko. 'I don't envy you one little bit, Doctor.'

'Thank you, sir,' replied Bashir glumly. He left the office.

Bashir stood in his quarters, staring at the full-length mirror again. For a moment, he merely looked, silent, examining the body that two minds wore. He stripped off one of the gloves, inspecting the brand on the back of his hand.

'Ops to Dr. Bashir.'

The malicious look faded from his eyes again, as if it had never been there. 'Bashir here.'

'Doctor, Starfleet Intelligence is here to see you. They are in Captain Sisko's office.'

'Tell them I'm on my way,' said Bashir. He closed his eyes for a moment, and in a blaze of light, the brand vanished. Removing the other glove, he left his quarters.

Dax frowned at a reading on her display. She tapped it lightly, but it stubbornly remained. She glanced up at O'Brien. 'Chief?'

O'Brien saw her perplexed face, and came towards her. 'What is it, Commander?'

'I'm getting a really strange subspace reading inside the station,' she said. 'I wondered if you knew if there were any systems that could be causing.'

O'Brien smiled. 'I know exactly what the problem is,' he said. He pressed a couple of controls and the reading suddenly vanished. 'That plasma leak burnt out a few of the isolinear control modules. We'll be getting bugs like that for weeks. It'll resolve itself eventually, but when it shows up again, just let me know.'

Dax nodded gratefully. 'Thanks, Chief.'

At that moment, the turbolift came up, and Bashir stepped onto the deck. He walked with a stride that didn't seem to belong to him. He walked into Sisko's office, and Dax glanced at O'Brien. 'That didn't seem like Julian at all.'

O'Brien shrugged. 'That's what we get for bringing him back from the dead.'

Sisko motioned for Julian to sit down, and he gestured towards the intelligence officer in the same motion. 'Dr. Bashir, this is Commander Draker from Starfleet Intel.' A tall man with grey hair shook Bashir's hand.

'Doctor,' said Draker in a soft voice, 'we have a few questions about your unusual recovery from brain-death. If I may?'

'By all means,' said Bashir, but his voice was tightly controlled. Draker did not notice, but Sisko threw him a faintly puzzled look.

Draker nodded, and reached into his briefcase for a padd. Bashir tensed up slightly, and then relaxed as Draker's hand came out with the read-out. 'This is a series of statements by the doctors who carried out the genetic enhancements on you and several other young children at about the same time. You were all given the same treatment, but you were the only one to come out of the treatment in a fitter state than when you went in.'

Bashir nodded. 'That's right. There was some form of flaw in the genetic processing in all but my case. They ended up in quite a bad way, some of them.'

Draker nodded. 'Have you any idea why that happened? Or more accurately, why you weren't affected in the same way?'

'I have never gone back over the records of my enhancement,' said Bashir, his voice icy. 'I have never concerned myself with the fate of those others.'

Draker frowned at his tone. 'I find that puzzling.'

'Why?' asked Bashir aggressively. 'Is it because you are concerned that a freak like myself managed to avoid your witch-hunts for so long? Or is it just because you're bothered about the fact that I'm simply better than you!'

'Doctor,' said Sisko, his voice warning. Bashir realised that he was shaking with anger.

Forcing his anger down, he closed his eyes. 'I apologise for my outburst.'

Draker was quite unruffled. 'No need to apologise, Doctor. Do you feel that you are better than those around you?'

'Mr. Draker,' said Sisko, 'I don't feel that the line of questioning is entirely appropriate to the matter being discussed.'

Draker nodded after a moment. 'Very well.' He glanced at the padd, although he already knew its contents off by heart. 'Doctor, these statements say that at no time were there genetic enhancements made by these doctors to give you the ability to do what you have done. Is there any way that you can explain how you managed to resurrect yourself?'

Bashir smiled, his eyes still closed. 'No.'

Draker frowned. 'Then it is an unexplainable occurrence?'

Bashir shook his head, still wearing the smile. 'No. I just don't think that you'll understand.'

Sisko now frowned at Bashir, perplexed at his doctor's tone. 'Doctor, Starfleet wants to understand.'

Bashir opened his eyes, and Sisko gasped. They seemed to have become holes into a darkness that enveloped Bashir's whole being. He was convinced that, if left to stare for a while, he would see stars in those eyes, as though Bashir's consciousness encompassed space itself. 'Starfleet can go to hell.'

With that, Bashir stood, turned, and left. Sisko stared after him for a moment, and then looked at Draker who wore an equally confused expression.

Bashir strode into his quarters again, and picked up the gloves. The brand reappeared on his hand again, and he pulled the glove on. At that moment, the door buzzed. 'Come in.'

Draker strode through the door. 'May I come in, Doctor?'

Bashir turned casually to face him. 'No. You can leave.'

Draker remained where he was. 'Starfleet wants answers, Dr. Bashir.'

Bashir smiled lazily. 'Starfleet already knows my answer. Very soon, it will get a practical demonstration. As will you, if you don't leave now.'

Draker shook his head. 'I can't do that, Doctor.'

Bashir raised his uncovered right hand. A small globe of coruscating white light materialised in it. Draker stared at it, transfixed. And then, it flashed towards him. Striking Draker in the chest, he staggered for a moment, and then the light spread out and consumed his entire body. With barely a sound, he vanished into oblivion.

Bashir turned away, almost unconcerned, pulling on the right glove.

Dax frowned again at her screen and looked across at O'Brien again. 'It's doing it again, Chief.'

O'Brien sighed, came across, and did the same procedure. This time, however, it refused to fade. O'Brien rapped the screen, but it remained. 'That's odd.'

'It's larger this time,' said Dax. O'Brien nodded.

'I know, but it should have faded by now,' he replied. 'I don't know what's causing it.'

'I'll run a sensor focus,' said Dax.

Bashir looked up from his preoccupation, and glanced at the room as if trying to follow a fly. Then, he swatted his arm out casually.

Dax blinked at her screen. 'Hey, Chief, it's vanished again.'

O'Brien looked relieved. 'Thank god for that. I was afraid that I'd have to go running about the Jeffries tubes looking for another inconsequential fault.'

Dax looked unconvinced. 'I'm not sure about this,' she said. 'If it does it again, I'm going to track it down.'

The turbolift doors slid open, and Bashir stepped onto the Promenade. He wore a faint, evil grin, and he strode towards Quark's.

Entering, he sat down at the bar, and cried above the noise, 'Kaltorian brandy!'

Quark glanced at Bashir, and walked over. 'We don't stock it, Doctor. And keep the noise down.'

Bashir stood up and towered over the diminutive Ferengi. 'Then what do you stock?' he said coldly.

Quark saw Bashir's eyes, and recoiled slightly. 'Everything else, Doctor.' He ducked under the bar, and brought out an ancient dusty bottle of blue liquid. 'Saurian brandy?'

Bashir looked at the bottle, took it from Quark's hands, and dropped it on the floor, where it shattered. 'Try again.'

By now, there was quiet as everybody watched Bashir, unsure as to his actions. Bashir ignored them, concentrating his attention on the bartender. Quark smiled nervously and brought out another bottle of blue liquid. 'Romulan ale?' he said, trying to keep his voice down as well.

Bashir looked at the bottle and the date. 'You do realise that the sale of Romulan ale is prohibited in the Federation?' Quark nodded nervously, and Bashir smiled broadly and took the bottle. 'Good work!'

Uncorking it, he took a long swig, and then glanced around at the worried faces in the bar. 'Get on with enjoying yourselves!' he roared. Turning, he left and strode from the bar, leaving everybody staring after him – including two security guards.

Bashir swaggered along the Promenade, staring around brazenly, and taking the occasional swig from his bottle. A moment later, he walked into a Bajoran civilian. 'Watch where you're going, peasant!' Bashir's voice carried across the Promenade.

'You watch where you're going!' replied the Bajoran angrily.

Bashir turned to look at him. 'Poor fool,' he said after a moment. 'If you had any idea of whom you were speaking to, you'd be down on your knees and grovelling in an instant.'

The Bajoran clenched his fists angrily and moved towards Bashir. The two security guards from Quarks came jogging up. 'All right, break it up,' said one.

Bashir made an off-hand gesture towards the Bajoran. 'This low-born scum insulted me. Have him flogged.'

The security guards glanced at each other quizzically and then motioned for the Bajoran to move on, who did so with a nasty glance at Bashir who stared at him with a look of pure contempt. Then, after noting the bottle in his hand, they approached Bashir cautiously.

'Sir, if you could just come with us,' one said.

Bashir shook his head. 'No.'

'You do realise that you're drinking intoxicating liquor on the Promenade, and that you're violating licensing laws as well,' the other said.

'Am I?' said Bashir in mock-astonishment, feigning a surprised glance at the bottle. 'Well, aren't I the naughty one?'

'It's come with us to your quarters, Doctor, or spend some time in the cells.'

Bashir became abruptly serious, the look of playful malevolence on his face being replaced with deadly calm. 'I think not.'

He turned on his heel, and strode off along the Promenade. Behind him, the guard drew his phaser. 'One last chance, Doctor!' he called. Bashir ignored him. Sighing with irritation, the guard fired a stun beam.

The blast hit something between Bashir and the guard, about five inches above Bashir's body. The guard looked surprised and adjusted his phaser as Bashir turned, a look of anger on his face. The beam lanced out again, but this time the doctor seemed to catch it on his hand. For a moment, he stood, resisting the power, until the guard ceased fire. Then, he raised his hand, which was glowing with the orange of suppressed energy. Bashir shook his head, an expression of resignation crossing his features. 'You small fools never learn, do you?' he said.

The guard tapped his badge. 'Security to Promenade.'

Twin beams of energy, exact duplicates to that from a phaser, lanced out and struck the two guards. They were catapulted backwards to lie, unmoving, on the deck. Bashir stared down at their bodies, and walked on. Around him, people scattered fearfully.

At that moment, Odo emerged from the security office and saw the commotion. 'Doctor Bashir!' he called.

Bashir ignored him and walked on. A pair of deputies emerged from the turbolift nearby. Bashir waved an arm at them, and they were thrown back into the lift, which closed its doors.

Odo tapped his badge. 'Odo to Captain Sisko.'

'Sisko here.'

'Captain, I think you'd better get down here. Doctor Bashir is acting very strangely, and he's incapacitated four of my deputies.'

'On my way.'

Odo decided to stop Bashir. 'Doctor, stop where you are!'

Bashir did stop this time, but turned a gaze of pure malevolence onto the changeling. 'This had better be good, shapeshifter.'

'Captain Sisko is on his way down here,' said Odo. 'I think he wants to talk to you.'

Bashir smiled slightly. 'Excellent. I will be able to begin my new rule immediately. This base will be an excellent place to start.'

He raised his hand, and vanished.

Bashir reappeared in the middle of Ops, to find Sisko staring at him from in front of his office. The Ops crew jolted away from Bashir, surprised by his sudden appearance. Bashir stared at them all for a moment, and then looked at Sisko. 'You wished to speak with me, Captain.'

'Are you all right, Doctor?'

'Never felt better,' said Bashir, and then realised he was still holding the Romulan Ale. With a motion, he corked it and vanished it. 'An inferior vintage. Remind me to torture the Ferengi.'

Sisko threw a glance at Dax, and then looked again at Bashir. 'Doctor, how are you doing what you are doing?'

Bashir smiled. 'I'm not telling you,' he said. He waved a finger gently at Sisko. 'Captain, Captain, you are asking all the wrong questions. The question that should be on everyone's lips is how best you can serve me?'

'How... What?' asked Sisko incredulously.

'You, Dax,' said Bashir, as if he had not heard, 'and you, Kira, can serve me best by being serving girls in my new palace.' He waved a hand, and Dax and Kira's uniforms vanished, replaced by skimpy outfits. Dax glared at him with anger and Kira took a furious step towards him.

Worf took a step towards Bashir as well, who stared at the Klingon. 'A guard, Worf.' He waved his arm.

Worf vanished, to reappear at the door, equipped with a long staff with a point. He stared for a moment at it, and then, in one quick movement, hoisted it and threw at Bashir. The doctor, without looking, vanished the staff, only for it to appear again in Worf's hand.

As he made to attack Bashir again, Sisko took a step forward, drawing the phaser he had taken for his meeting with the doctor. 'That's _enough_!'

Bashir smiled at him, ignoring the weapon. 'You're right, Captain. The others can be dealt with later. You are the crux of the matter at the moment.'

Sisko pointed the weapon at Bashir. 'You're not doing anything more.'

'Wrong,' said Bashir cruelly. 'You cannot stop me.' With a single wave of his hand, Sisko vanished in a blaze of white light.

Kira and O'Brien started towards Bashir, but he was already advancing up the stairs to Sisko's office. At the top, he turned, and looked around Ops. 'I don't like this,' he said. Another wave, and the white light enveloped everything.

The landscape was desolate. Sisko was stood at the foot of a tall mountain, facing out towards a large body of water. For a moment, he tried to get his bearings.

A range of mountains extended far into the distance, but no snow covered their peaks. This suggested to Sisko that they were not natural. To another direction, a long broad plain stretched out. In the far distance, a tall tower stood, alone against the rising sun.

It was the only sign of civilisation that Sisko could see, so he headed towards it.

It was only three miles there. This planet had to be a lot smaller than Earth to make the tower look as though it was on the horizon. Sisko covered the distance in three-quarters of an hour, jogging gently. He could be in no hurry.

As he drew closer, he could see that the tower was made of a single piece of metal. A remarkable feat of engineering, he knew. Shaped much like the ancient Russian towers of Moscow, the flame impression on the spire was given additional impact by the rising sun now directly above it, giving it the look of a burning candle.

A small door provided the only entrance to the tower. Operated by a handle, Sisko knocked first. There was no answer. After a moment, he tried the door.

To his surprise, it swung open easily. He stepped inside.

A circular flight of stairs was the first thing he noticed, leading around the wall of the tower, up to a higher floor. There was nothing else that he could see. Drawing his phaser, he moved cautiously up the stairs.

The stairs led to a opening in the floor that allowed him access. Sisko tried to see if anyone was lying in wait for him, but he could not hear or see anything. He moved slowly towards the opening, as close as he dared, and in a single movement, he threw himself through it.

Rolling to a stop, he levelled his phaser. A single table was all that stood before him. Sisko holstered his phaser – and an arm reached out and wrapped itself around his neck.

Reacting instinctively, he twisted and tried to throw his assailant. The unseen enemy refused to be thrown, however, and Sisko prepared to try another stratagem.

Then, he was released. He staggered forward from the chokehold, turned, and just stopped himself launching a punch into Commander Draker's face. 'Captain Sisko!'

'Commander!' Sisko fought for breath for a moment, surprised at the amount of strength the older man had had in his arms. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'I was just about to ask the same of you, Captain,' said Draker. 'Last thing I knew, I was stood in Dr. Bashir's quarters, and then I found myself near that mountain out there. I've been here, deciding on what to do next.'

Sisko nodded, still rubbing his throat. 'Julian came up to Ops, and starting changing things just buy waving his hand.'

Draker frowned. 'Why?'

'He wouldn't tell me. At times, he seemed just like a spoilt child. At others, he was dangerously aggressive. He also behaved like we were things placed there for his amusement.' Sisko forced a slight grin. 'This may seem like a statement of the obvious, but he's not acting normally.'

Draker gave a grunt. 'You got that right. So what's happened to him – and us?'

'I have no idea,' said Sisko. 'All I know is that immediately after the incident with the plasma leak, he's been acting abnormally ever since.'

'Is it possible that when he flatlined, something took over his mind?'

Sisko gave Draker a sceptical look. 'Like what?'

Draker shrugged. 'Starfleet's run into several races and individual beings capable of that, Captain. It was only a suggestion.'

Sisko nodded, slightly ruffled. 'Yes, you're right, sorry. My primary concern is not what happened to Julian, but how he got us here, and how I can get back to _DS9_.' He glanced about the room, and noticed a door behind Draker. Moving past the other man, he tested the handle. It refused to move.

'I tried that when I first got here,' said Draker behind him. 'I can't get it open. Then again,' he added thoughtfully, 'I didn't have a phaser.'

Sisko drew the weapon, and stood back. Aiming at the lock, he fired.

The beam lanced out and blasted the lock in a second. Glowing white-hot, it dropped from the door, and the obstruction swung backwards.

Behind it, a white glow filled a small room. Sisko and Draker took a step forward –

And into a high, vaulted room, one which was made a gleaming metal. Sisko staggered, surprised by the unexpected change of surroundings. Draker stared around him in surprise, whistling at the sophistication of the machinery around them.

'Where the hell are we now?' asked Sisko, his voice testy.

'No idea whatsoever,' said Draker. They both looked in the direction they had come, but there was no sign of the room they had left, or the door they had opened. Instead, there was another door, but this one was almost exactly the same as those on any Federation starship. Sisko took a step towards it, and at the same time, it opened, sliding aside.

Two men stepped through it. One of them was stockily built, but tall as well, with dark brown hair topping an open face.

The other was Julian Bashir, but much older. Grey hair, wrinkled face – the man who wore Bashir's face looked like Bashir would do in about one hundred years. He stepped forward. 'Captain, am I glad to see you!'

'I could say the same thing,' said Sisko warily. 'Who are you?'

'It is me – Julian Bashir. My double has obviously gotten rid of you. We have to stop him immediately.' Bashir's face was worried.

Sisko held up a hand. 'Hang on, I'm not doing anything until I find out what's going on. I want a full explanation, and I want it now.'

The other stepped forward. 'Captain Sisko, my name is Areal Starros. I am commander of this ship. If you would come with me, I can explain everything. I'm afraid that it's not going to make much sense if we remain here.'

Sisko stared at the Bashir lookalike for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly. He looked at Starros. 'I trust you won't be offended if I choose to hang onto my phaser.'

Starros smiled slightly. 'Indeed, Captain, I had no intention of confiscating it.' He shot a quick glance sideways at Bashir. 'The good doctor here has told me what an understanding man you are.' He spared a glance at Draker.

Draker said nothing. Turning, Starros and Bashir led the way through the door and Sisko and Draker followed cautiously.

The room they stepped into was even larger than the first. Rising high, supported by a series of crossbeams across the ceiling and coming down to the floor, it held a huge screen that showed only the stars. In the centre of the room, a large console bank was manned by three men. They spared Sisko and Draker no curious glance as they walked past.

Starros stopped at the large console, and turned to face Sisko. 'Captain, I am, as I have already revealed, captain of this ship. In your language, it is called the _Defiant_.'

Sisko smiled slightly. 'And that's supposed to impress me?'

Starros showed no change of expression. 'Our current mission is to hunt down the former ruler of this galaxy, Julian Bashir.'

Sisko frowned. 'Former ruler?'

Starros nodded. 'I will start at the beginning. Two thousand years ago, Julian Bashir was born on a planet not dissimilar to your home planet of Earth. Earth was still a monarchy then, and he was heir to their throne. He was genetically modified at a young age to give him added strength, intelligence and other various physical attributes.'

'Much like myself,' interjected Bashir.

'The practice was common among that ruling family of Earth. But something was different this time. Bashir found himself with almost unbelievable powers – he could transform matter at will, transport himself or any other anywhere in the galaxy in the blink of an eye – in short, he became almost a god.'

Sisko nodded. 'Any idea of how that happened?'

'No, Captain. Genetic manipulation was outlawed on pain of death nearly one thousand years ago. Bashir decided that he did not want any competition. Even if it was a fluke, he wanted no chance of it being repeated.' Starros glanced away. 'I digress however. Bashir realised that he could have whatever he wanted from an early age. And he wanted power. In short order, the armies of Earth had conquered the entire galaxy. One hundred years after his birth, he had become God Emperor, as he styled himself, of the entire galaxy.'

'So why is he in my universe?' asked Sisko.

'You have to understand Bashir's personality, Captain. He was a small child when he realised how much more powerful he was than any other person in the galaxy, and probably in existence. Knowing, as you do, how that feeling can affect a person as an adult, how do you think it affected Bashir as a child?'

Sisko nodded slowly. 'He never grew up – never became an adult, because he never had to face the trials and perils an adult has to face in order to mature. That explains a lot.'

Starros smiled. 'I see you understand.'

'Not quite,' said Draker. 'How has he managed to live two thousand years or more?'

Starros still wore his smile. 'There was another reason Bashir thought he was a god. He reached a certain age, equivalent to your Bashir here, and then seemed to stop ageing.'

Draker nodded, understanding. 'The genetic fluke.'

'Exactly,' said Bashir. 'I've studied his records. They show an amazing stop in his ageing process at about age twenty-five and held that way, almost as if in stasis, for about two thousand years. People here live a lot longer on average than most humans in our reality, Captain, but two thousand years is totally unheard of, even here.'

Sisko looked back at Starros. 'So why are you now hunting him?'

'About one hundred years ago, Bashir disappeared without trace from the Imperial Palace on Earth. He simply did not reappear again. In the ensuing confusion, a small resistance movement which had been building up power and support, launched a strike on Earth, of which this ship –' Here he gestured at the _Defiant_ - 'was leader. We destroyed Earth in a day.'

Sisko blinked, surprised at the triumph in his voice, and then remembered what this Earth meant to these people. Starros saw his expression and smiled. 'Earth was my home as well, Captain, but it had to be destroyed. Over the next century, we were able to take the Empire apart, piece by piece, until it was no more. Then, we turned our attention to hunting Bashir down. We finally tracked him down to a small planet near here. We were not prepared for what we found.'

Bashir cut in again. 'He had aged as normal since his disappearance, sir. It was as though his biological clock just started working again. He looked like I do now.'

'Unsurprising,' said Starros, 'as your friend now wears his body.'

'As your Bashir wears ours,' said Sisko. Starros nodded.

'You are right. The reason he had disappeared so suddenly was that he had realised he was ageing again. Like a child, he panicked, and fled, desperate to stop the oncoming years again. Forgetting Empire, godhood and people, he fled from planet to planet, as his Empire crumbled around him.'

'How did you track him down?' asked Draker.

'At first, it was impossible. He had travelled from planet to planet, often incognito, at random. Then we realised that there was a pattern, and an interested one at that. Logically, he was following rumours that there were outlawed practices of genetic manipulation that might extend his life again, so we followed that trail. But then we realised that the distances between planets were reducing all the time. He was having to jump from two planets to get to another.

'It was obvious what was happening. His powers were waning as he aged. When we eventually tracked him down to the planet nearby, he tried to escape – and failed. We threw him in the brig, intending to take him back to Stylas, our new base, for public execution.' Now Starros looked annoyed. 'However, when we reached Stylas, and dragged him from the cells, he protested, claiming that he was not who we thought him to be. He did not know who we were, or who we believed he was. His last memory was –'

'Dying on a bio-bed,' said Sisko. Bashir nodded vigorously.

'That was when the transfer took place, Captain,' he said. 'For a few days before the accident, I dreamt the same dream several times. A man, sitting in darkness, cradling a ball of light that could transform into anything. However, it was not until I was dying that I saw who the man was. My own face, staring back at me.'

'We believe that he was saving his power,' said Starros. 'He obviously realised that the only way to cheat death was to leave our universe. He sought for an opportunity to steal a body – and found a duplicate body, almost the same age as he had been for so long.'

'Do you understand parallel universe theory?' asked Sisko. Starros looked blank, and then laughed.

'Yes, Captain! Indeed, it is no theory here. We have the ability to transfer people between dimensions with machinery. The only difference for Bashir was that he was able to do it naturally.'

'I dreamt on the bio-bed that I had merged with the other somehow,' said Bashir. 'But that was not right. He took over my body, and cast my consciousness into his. He believed that Starros and his people would execute me without thinking, and he would be safe.'

'He was nearly right,' admitted Starros. 'I very nearly gave the order to execute. If Bashir had not protested so vigorously and so convincingly, we might not be having this conversation.' He paused and then said, 'Captain, there is something else. It would help settle any last doubts I have.'

Sisko nodded. 'By all means.' Starros turned to the console and pressed a few keys.

'If you would look at this symbol,' he said. Bashir looked at it, and then smiled Starros.

'Starros, I told you before – I don't recognise it.'

Draker looked at the symbol, and shook his head, and then Sisko stepped forward.

On a small screen, there was a symbol of two crossed swords, both of which crossed a planet that Sisko recognised to be Earth. 'I recognise this,' he said. 'Bashir was wearing black gloves after the accident, and this symbol was on the back of one of them.'

'Which hand?' asked Starros urgently.

'The left,' said Sisko.

Starros smiled, relieved. 'That is right. Bashir wore gloves to contain the power in his hands when he didn't want to use it, and he wore this symbol, his Imperial symbol, on the back of the left one.'

Sisko nodded. 'That proves it then.' He looked out at the screen. 'We have to get back.'

'You're damn right!' said Bashir fervently. 'This body's falling apart at the seams.'

'Is there any way that we can switch the two minds around again?' asked Draker.

Starros nodded. 'We have been working on a device like that for a few months now. It is not tested, but we believe that it should extract the two consciousnesses and swap them again.'

'Good,' said Sisko. 'He can't be allowed to carry on any longer.'

'I agree,' said Starros. He stepped closer. 'Captain, I implore you, do not show mercy to him. If you knew the grief and terror his armies have caused, the lives they have taken and tortured – you would not find it in your heart to forgive him.'

Sisko stared at Starros for a moment. 'I'll see. Starfleet does not hold with executions though.'

'Not at all?' asked Starros, surprised.

'No.'

Starros wore a puzzled expression as he turned away from Sisko. 'Well, that's one way to run a government, I suppose.'

At that moment, the door slid open, and another man came through, this time carrying a small silver box. He handed it to Starros with a bow, and Starros turned and handed the container to Sisko. 'Captain, this is the device.'

Sisko inspected it incredulously. 'This is it?' He made as if to open it, and Starros' hand stopped him instantly.

'Don't open it, Captain. It scans your brain patterns on a sub-atomic wavelength, matches them with anyone stood close by, and swaps them with the closest match. If your Bashir is in the same room, it will swap their memories around. Make him open the box, and it will do the rest. Once its task is completed, destroy it. We have no need of it here.'

Sisko nodded. 'Very well.'

'Just one last question?' said Draker. 'Why did he send us here instead of killing us?'

Starros shrugged. 'He wanted you out of the way, not dead. If he had further use for you, he would simply call you back.'

'But he was angry with me,' argued Draker. 'He was not interested in me at all.'

Starros shook his head. 'It may be to do with his powers. He is, whatever else we might say about him, superhuman – his motives are different to ours, Commander.'

Draker nodded. Starros turned to Sisko again. 'Captain, you had better leave now. He is almost tearing your command apart at the moment.'

Sisko felt a flash of anger at what might be happening to _DS9_ and his crew. 'If he is as powerful as you claim, he endangers the entire Federation. Lead the way.'

Starros led them back through the door to the high vaulted hall again. 'Please come and stand by this device,' he said, indicating a large machine that stood against the near bulkhead. Sisko, Bashir and Draker did as they were commanded.

Starros looked at them for a moment. 'It was good to meet you all, even if for such a brief time. I am glad that our long journey is coming to an end.'

Sisko smiled. 'We'll make sure of that.'

'Goodbye, Starros,' said Bashir. 'Thank you for your understanding.'

Starros nodded at the doctor. 'Maybe we will meet again in different circumstances,' he said. 'Until then – farewell.'

He pressed a sequence of keys on the machine. Sisko heard a huge rumble of power and then white light filled his vision.

The room they appeared in was nothing like Ops. Instead, a huge hall, with pillars on either side stretched before them like something from the Arabian Nights. At one end, a pair of huge doors stood, guarded by two men. One of them was Worf. He immediately spotted Sisko and the others. But he said nothing.

'Commander Worf?' said Sisko, puzzled. Worf stared straight ahead, although his eyes moved in his head. Sisko moved towards him, and jolted backwards as the huge staff that Worf carried swept out and pointed at his throat.

There was a pause, and then Worf relaxed. A voice boomed out at them, Julian Bashir's voice. 'Let them pass, Klingon!'

The doors swung open, slightly, and Sisko and the others advanced.

On the other side, Sisko met a sight that stunned him beyond belief. Another huge room, even more palatial than the entrance hall, stretched out before him. At the far end, seated on an ornate throne, Julian Bashir sat, still dressed in his Starfleet uniform. He looked up lazily at Sisko and smiled. 'I didn't expect to see you again so soon, Captain,' he said. He gestured around himself at the room. 'What do you think of Ops? I prefer it this way.' 

Sisko's attention was drawn, almost unwillingly, to the side of the room. There, Dax, Kira and Yevlin Meris all knelt, dressed in only skimpy outfits, staring blankly ahead just like Worf had done. At another side, O'Brien was playing with a group of building bricks. Every time he constructed a tower, it would collapse and he would start again, like an automaton.

Sisko's gaze became hate-filled at the denigration of his crew. Bashir smiled at the expression. 'I like them like this,' he said. 'At the moment, I have to keep them under strict control, but they'll soon accept my rule.'

The older Bashir leaned close to Sisko and whispered, 'He prefers the old-fashioned tradition of kingly rule.'

'Ah, my double!' said pseudo-Bashir gleefully. 'I see you fit the body well! That old fool Starros didn't execute you like I thought. You must have a persuasive manner.'

The tower fell down again, and Sisko glanced around as O'Brien picked up the bricks and started again. Bashir smiled cruelly. 'He likes playing around and building things. I thought that would be an appropriate way of keeping him occupied.'

Sisko gritted his teeth and took a step closer. At that moment, he felt an unseen force grip him and hold him fast, and he could see out of the corner of his eye that Bashir and Draker were caught in the same way. Bashir leaned back in his throne slightly, and Kira stood, picked up something from beside her, and took it to him.

Bashir took the object from her, and Sisko could now see that it was his baseball. Bashir examined it again, and looked at Sisko's burden. 'What is that you have there?'

Sisko realised there was only one way of getting out of the situation alive. He forced the hate from his face and smiled ingratiatingly. 'A gift for the God Emperor himself.'

Bashir took a quick glance at Sisko, and licked his lips nervously, a sign of vulnerability, Sisko knew. 'What is it?'

Sisko forced his smile to become obviously cunning. 'My Lord, you must already know. You are our god.'

Bashir nodded slightly, taken in by Sisko's words. 'I'm glad you realise that, Captain. I may allow you to live after all, and serve me. Open the box.'

'I have a better idea, my Lord,' said Sisko. 'I will trade it for the ball.'

Bashir glanced at the baseball. 'This trinket? Yes, all right.'

He grinned suddenly, like a child who thought he had matched wits with an adult and won. Sisko felt the grip release him, and he took a step forward, carrying the box before him. Bashir held out a hand, and Sisko's phaser drifted out of his holster and towards the throne. 'We can't have you playing with such dangerous toys, Captain, can we?' said Bashir, his voice gently chiding.

Sisko ignored it, and took a few more steps. The next moment, the box was whirled from his hands, and the baseball whirred towards his face so quickly that only reflex action caught it before it hit him in the face.

The scanning device sailed slowly across the throne room, into Bashir's waiting, eager arms. He looked up at Sisko, and smiled. 'Sorry, Captain, but I was too excited to wait.'

Sisko stared at him. When Bashir did nothing, he said, 'Well? Aren't you going to open it?'

Bashir tapped his finger against his chin for a moment, and then shook his head. With a single motion, Dax stepped up to the throne, and he handed her the box. He caressed her chin, and then turned back to Sisko. 'I think that your friend, the beautiful Jadzia Dax, can open it. That's the best option, right?'

Sisko's eyes widened, but he could not think of anything to say that would not give away the true purpose of the box. At that moment, a voice behind him cried out, 'It's not for her!'

Bashir raised his head and glared at Draker. 'What do you mean? And be careful, Intel! You are still unpopular with me!'

Draker forced obsequiousness into his tone. 'My Lord, the box is for you and you only! It is our gift to you! What you desire above all else!'

Bashir looked at the box again, uncertainty showing in his face. 'How so? I am a god! I have no need for anything else.' Despite his words, Sisko could detect a hint of greed in his words.

The other Bashir shouted, 'You know as well as I do that body you wear is not immortal! I am genetically modified, but I was not the genetic masterpiece that you are!'

Sisko could not turn to look at his friend, trapped in the grip behind him. He could, therefore, see the interlocutor's face turn to reappraise the box again. He had obviously liked the phrase "genetic masterpiece". Only a child's mind would fall for the obvious flattery. H decided to chuck his bet in. 'The box contains our gift to you as our master. Open it, and we serve you.'

Bashir stared at the box a moment longer, turned to look at Sisko again, and then slowly, almost reverentially, took the box from Dax's hands. With a single wave of his hand, she returned to her kneeling position, beside the blank-looking Kira.

Sisko forced himself not to look relieved as Bashir looked at the box. He stood from the throne, and looked at Sisko. 'I'm glad you see the truth.'

He opened the box's silver lid and looked in.

Instantly, a green light played over his face. Bashir stiffened with shock, but the box did not fall from his hands. Behind Sisko, the real Bashir also stiffened and froze.

Sisko and Draker both found that they had been released from their grip as the pseudo-Bashir brought all of his powers to bear in fighting the box. Kira, Dax, and Yevlin all unfroze, their faces becoming active again. O'Brien glanced up, and then returned to playing with the building blocks.

Dax and Kira both stood, staring at the green light sweeping over Bashir's face. Then they spotted Sisko. 'Captain!'

Sisko ignored them, and saw that the palatial walls were fading slowly. Behind them, he could see the familiar bulkheads and consoles of Ops.

A scream suddenly ripped through Ops, echoing from the walls. It took Sisko a moment to pinpoint it, but he realised that the wail was coming from the Bashir on the throne. Suddenly, Bashir's body jerked, sagged and collapsed against the throne. The silver box fell to the deck of a suddenly restored Ops. From the other side of the room, Worf turned and stared, puzzled, at the reappearance of _DS9's_ familiar contours.

The scream did not stop however, and Sisko realised that it was now coming from behind him. He turned to see the older Bashir stagger, and relax as if released from the grip of a giant crushing hand. After a moment, he looked around, and Sisko knew in that instant that he had been successful.

'What have you done to me?' growled Bashir. He looked at his hands, and recognised that he was once again trapped in his old prison of decay. '_NO!_'

Sisko smiled grimly. 'We have restored your body to you. You had no right to take what was not yours.'

'_I am a GOD!_' screamed Bashir. '_You_ cannot tell me what I can and cannot do!' So saying, he raised his hand at the exact moment that Sisko remembered that his phaser was on the throne. He closed his eyes in acceptance of the death that was surely coming.

A phaser beam lanced into Bashir, and he stiffened at the blast. He shuddered, fighting the killing beam, but eventually succumbed. At last, he staggered once, fell back against a console, and the breath passed from him. He fell to the floor, dead.

Sisko turned, and saw Bashir, his Bashir, holding the phaser out to him. Sisko took the weapon, and nodded at the doctor. 'Thank you, Doctor.'

Bashir shook his head, no expression of triumph on his face as he stared pityingly at the body of his double. 'No, Captain. I want to thank you for saving me.'

There was a gasp from Yevlin, and Sisko and Bashir both saw it at exactly the same moment. The old man's body was crumbling, wasting away as they watched. Within seconds, he had become dust.

Bashir nodded solemnly. 'Time catches us all in the end. Even gods.'

'He wasn't a god,' said Sisko. 'A god would not want the things he wanted. He was a human, with human needs and human desires. Would a god succumb to the needs and wants he had?'

'I couldn't say, Captain. All I know is that he was gifted with godlike powers.'

'We all have them, Julian,' said Jadzia, moving closer to him. 'The power to choose is itself a godlike power.'

'I'm sorry,' said Bashir, 'but he was never given that choice. Like me, he had genetic implants forced on him as a child. He never wanted them, and I don't believe he ever wanted what he got from them. If he wasn't a god, then he never had the power of god in his hands either.'

He turned away, and a frown crossed his sad features. 'Miles?'

The entire crew turned and looked at the Chief of Operations, who was still messing about with the building bricks. Sisko stepped closer, and said gently, 'Chief?'

O'Brien ignored him, and set the last brick on the top of the tower. After a moment looking at it, he relaxed, satisfied that it wouldn't fall. Then he looked up at Sisko. 'Sorry, Captain, but that was my way of checking that that bastard wouldn't knock it over again.' He stood and brushed himself off. 'I just hope that the station's that easy to repair.'

At that moment, the turbolift slid up the shaft, and Odo led a full security team onto Ops. He stared at Sisko, mystified. 'Captain, we've been trying to get up here for nearly eight hours. What's been going on?'

Sisko sighed. 'I'm not sure myself, Constable. But it's all over now.'

Odo nodded, still puzzled, but willing to let the subject lie. 'Very well, sir.' He turned and motioned for the security team to enter the turbolift again.

As the security detail departed, Sisko looked at the female members of the Ops crew. 'Are you going to change back into your uniforms?'

Kira flushed bright red, realising that she was wearing practically nothing. 'If you'll excuse me, Captain,' she managed and she and Yevlin turned and fled for the turbolift. Dax made her way to the lift with more dignity, but she turned and gave Bashir a dark look.

'Now I know what you were thinking about for all those years,' she said, her tone icy, but her eyes were glimmering with mirth. 'Shame on you, Julian.' So saying, not allowing the doctor to reply, she turned and entered the lift. It descended from sight.

Sisko hid a smile, avoiding looking at the shocked doctor. He took a quick glance at the pile of duct near the console, and looked at Worf. 'Mr. Worf, please have a cleaning team come up and remove the late Emperor Bashir's remains.'

Worf nodded, still a little bemused. 'Aye, sir.'

Sisko and Draker entered his office. As they entered, Sisko went behind his desk and placed the baseball back on its little stand. He looked up at Draker. 'How are you going to put this in your report?'

'Exactly as it happened, sir,' replied Draker with a sigh. 'Starfleet need to know, and Doctor Bashir's actions need to be explained so that no blame attaches to him. He was not at fault.'

Sisko nodded silently. 'I'm glad you realise that.'

Draker smiled faintly. 'If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll head off and fill in the report.' At Sisko's nod, Draker turned and left, passing Bashir who was entering the office. They exchanged nods, and the intelligence officer left.

'What can I do for you, Doctor?' asked Sisko.

Bashir looked uncomfortable. 'Sir, I want permission to give my double a proper burial.'

Sisko raised an eyebrow. 'Why? He was a tyrant, a murderer and a psychotic.'

Bashir looked his commanding officer in the eye. 'He could have been me.'

Sisko frowned. 'You could be right. Then, again, doctor, he was simply what all of us want to be. All-powerful and all-knowing. Power is a strong lure.'

'Sir,' said Bashir, 'with respect, you're wrong. Starros was wrong as well.'

'How so?'

'All he wanted was what any human wants, sir. To be accepted for what he was, not as some genetic freak. It is the same as myself.'

Sisko looked up at the doctor. Finally, he nodded. 'Very well, Doctor. Do what you wish.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Bashir gratefully. He turned and left.

Sisko turned and looked from the porthole out at the stars. Dax's words came back to him. _The power to choose is a godlike power._ For a moment, he had wondered what she had meant, and then he understood.

Bashir had not had the power to choose, just as his double had been robbed of that opportunity. And because of that, they had not felt themselves fully human, their behaviour governed by a guilt that was not of their making. Both of them struggled to make themselves accepted, but due to his extraordinary powers, the double had not – could not – be accepted. He would only ever be hated for having everything that others had – and not wanting it himself.

Sisko sat and watched until he saw a small glowing torpedo launched towards Bajor's sun. And then stood, and saluted the fallen god.

The End


End file.
